


Taking Care Of Things

by boroo



Category: BBS - Fandom, Banana Bus Squad, asylum au - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, idk its gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boroo/pseuds/boroo
Summary: Evan is admitted to an asylum. He rebels, fights, and yells. He knows something isn't right here. He doesn't belong here. 'Please,' he thinks, 'Save me,'





	Taking Care Of Things

“Y’know… I don’t think I need to go. I can get better by myself.” I spoke out, smiling something weak and fragile at my mother. Her grey sweater and glistening green eyes said something words couldn’t. I didn't need to hear her to understand that the answer was inevitably no. She flashed a smile and then turned back to the woman behind the glass.

My small stature leaned over in the chair as I ran a shaking hand through my greasy and overgrown hair. I stared at the cold blue and white tiles, counting each blue one in my view. 23, by the way.

A sickly feeling churned in my stomach, 

Although the doors were able to hold sound well, there was an occasional scream or person shuffling out, either crying or shaking. I looked at my mom, a panicky feeling blanketing my body, a drowning feeling crushing my lungs. I didn’t want to go, I didn’t ask for this. 

They made me go, telling me I was “sick” and “unnatural”. They don’t know how it feels. They don’t know what it’s like to spend every waking moment of your unworthy existence being afraid. I’ve ruined people, disappointed my family, desolated my entire life. 

If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be like this. I want to be “normal”.

“Evan Fong?” I shot up at the sound of my name. My ears rang with a slight uneasiness. I saw a nurse standing by one of the doors, most likely to take me away. Her blue and white outfit looked dull against her outshining red hair, falling perfectly in place. It was just enough to frame her face, dazzling her looks. As if the world gave me a giant “fuck you”.

“Hello! I'm Kris, the local welcoming nurse. I’m here to talk to you about your…” She paused for a moment, perhaps to watch her mouth and be aware of what she was saying to me, a mentally unstable delusionist, “...symptoms!” 

I mumbled a dismissive ‘yeah..’ and continued to walk. The walls were suffocatingly blue and white, the only dim light came from slim rectangular windows.

I walked past the doors, reading off numbers and names below. 015 - Lucas, 016 - Tyler, 017 - Ryan. The windows were fogged up, hiding the actual patients behind the doors. My curiosity didn't stop the fear inside me. It was better if I wasn't able to see inside.

“And here you are, Room 019! We can take a tour inside there later, but for now we need to discuss your mental issues.” Kris winced at her last words as if they hurt her more than me. I guess that's all I’ll ever be classified as: an issue.

We walked more and more down endless corridors. They never seemed to end, and as each turn, seeing the same forever hallway, I begun to feel trapped. Who knows how long I’ll be cooped up here. A month? Year? Three?

If I’m lucky, I’ll lose track of time and before I know it I’ll be out. That chance had a very low probability percentage though. I scraped my dull black and grey shoes against the carpeted floor. The feeling of my ripped shoes and perfected floors made me want to scream

I wanted to break the unforgettable silence between that nurse and I. Why won’t she fucking say something? My thoughts corroded my head, filling my brain with worn out copper and solid nickel.

If I hurt her, then she would say something. My chest became heavy. I felt as if I was losing a connection with reality and only monsters and spirits to comfort me.

“Evan, honey, are you okay?” That nurse turned her head, red locks falling from ear to chin. She looked absolutely stunning. I would kill to see her face bruised and beaten.

 

Kris put a gentle hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of that dark mindset. I became self conscious, realizing I was just another freak that she had to deal with. I mumbled and stuttered, but words couldn't be formed. I saw her slowly put a hand on her walkie-talkie, and that's when I spoke up.

“I’m fine!” I squeaked out, wincing at my high pitched voice and unsettling smile I faked. I wanted all this to be over.

She didn't say anything. We kept walking and she kept her hand on her hip. I felt sick knowing she didn’t trust being around me. Of course, I’m just a freak. Normal people are scared of me. 

I had blacked out, repressing those last few moments of walking in complete silence. All I could recall was the plastic smell in the air. 93 steps a minute.

 

Eventually we landed in another room, a small desk and two chairs across from each other. A bulky computer sat on the desk, dividing the two chairs so you couldn’t see the other person. She sat me down to explain everything to her. My personal life, illnesses, family. Shortly after I had ripped my heart open, she left. 

A simple ‘excuse me’ stumbled out of her mouth, opening the door for a small period of time, just enough for me to hear the mechanical sounds and a short scream from one of the other rooms. I jumped a bit, the door closing and masking the sounds of, what I assumed, absolute horror.

It wasn’t until around 150 pen clicks that a new nurse came in, a weary but welcoming smile and a few documents in hand. I was able to read half of one, a kid with a sycophantic-depression disorder. 'Poor kid,' I thought, 'trapped in a place like this,'

“Well then, Evan, welcome to G. C. Brighton!”

**Author's Note:**

> First fic so lets hope it goes well :P


End file.
